Mixed Messages
by inspiration-arts
Summary: The year is 1973. T.C. Williams is open to grades 10-12, and some of the '71 players were sophomores. Now, during their senior year, a new girl is ready to step up and make history. Rated T for language, sports-related violence, and sexual content.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, guys! I know you haven't seen anything from me in a long while, but that's going to change, because summer's here! Nothing was coming to my mind in terms of what I could do for my stories, so I decided to delete all my unfinished ones (leaving one left that nobody really reads, anyway *cue weary sigh*) and start them over from scratch. **_**Mixed Messages **_**is the first. This first chapter is much longer than the original, and hopefully much better, too!**

** Chapter 1: Moving In**

Laura stuck her head out of one of the backseat windows, more than a few locks of dark, auburn hair flying out of her ponytail and whipping her in the face. As her parents' car sped along, the businesses, restaurants, and large buildings of downtown gave way to a dirtier and run-down neighborhood; black kids, most of them her own age, stared as they whizzed by. The houses eventually became nicer and more cozy-looking, until black faces changed to white. As the car slowed, the faces became clearer and more incredulous, until finally they stopped. Laura's father stopped the car, and her parents stepped out.

Her mother appeared in front of her. "Come on, you lump," she said affectionately, and opened the door, ignoring Laura's cry as she nearly fell out of the car. "We have to unload the commuter van **(1)**, and then go to your school, so we can find out what classes you have to take."

Laura, by now out of the van, looked up hopefully at this. "Do you think that they might let me join the football team?"

Her mother sighed and brushed Laura's hair away from her face. "Maybe." Then she frowned. "But I don't want a repeat of what happened in Mississippi. What possessed you to ask one of the most close-minded states in the country a question like _that,_ I can only imagine." Seeming to get over this, she pointed to the back of the van. "We can talk about this later; let's get back to unpacking."

The strange thing was, Laura noted, as they went back and forth carrying various items, was that no one was to be seen. Oh, she would catch a glimpse or two of faces behind flickering curtains, but no one would come out of their houses and greet them. Suddenly, the reason came over Laura and hit her like a ton of bricks. She turned to her mother when they were outside, unloading one of the last items from the van. "Mom?" Her mother—who was pulling out a particularly stubborn box—didn't answer, but nodded to show she was listening. "Why did we move into a white neighborhood?" Her mother stopped pulling and stared at her. "Wouldn't black people maybe be more understanding of our situation? I could understand if it wasn't by much, but they'd at least _try._"

The older woman put the box down. "Do you remember what it was like in Mississippi? How our family was ostracized, more than any black family? How Chiumbo had to struggle to survive each day, with almost no one's help? Oh, all the times we came close to losing him..." She took in a shuddery breath. "We—Chiumbo and I—chose this house to fight that. We as a family can legally buy the best house we can afford, no matter which neighborhood it's in." She gave a little half-smile. "It also helped that I was the one who checked the house over with the realtor and brought the money to pay for it." She picked up the box and carried to the house, Laura following her with the last few packages.

"Hello, darling," Setting down the box, she kissed her husband on the cheek and took Laura's load away from her. "Why don't you two go down to the school and get Laura's schedule and do the tour? I can meet the movers and help finish the unpacking."

Squeezing her mother in a tight hug, she kissed her cheek and smiled. "Thanks, Mom." Releasing her, Laura bounded out the door and climbed into the passenger seat, already buckled by the time her father was down the sidewalk.

He chuckled as he slid in next to her. "Anxious, honey?" Smiling at the face his daughter gave him, he buckled and started the car, and they drove off. Keeping the windows up this time, she could see the faces rewind at top speed: white, nice house; white, less than nice; black, ghetto. Downtown was more diverse, but it was still clear exactly where the black and white stores were. Eventually, the schools began to show up, and her father stopped at a large, brown brick building. T.C. Williams High School. It was funny; it seemed more imposing in person than it did on a brochure. Perhaps that was the power of leaflets, she wondered, as she and her father walked up the almost never-ending sidewalk to the front door. Thankfully, it was unlocked, and they walked into the colder, cleaner—not to say that the outside wasn't nearly impeccable—interior of the building.

The secretary looked up, eyes flickering over Chiumbo's obvious blackness. They widened as they took in Laura's hair, her green eyes and olive skin. "How can I help you?" she said awkwardly.

"My daughter should be transferred to your high school for this fall," Laura's father said quietly.

The woman nodded smartly, regaining her composure. "Name?"

"Laura Eldon."

"Can you spell her last name for me?" He did so, and her fingers flew across the keys. "Ah, here we go." She glanced at him. "Is your name, um...Chi-yum-bo...?"

"No, it's pronounced Chee-yoom-bo."

She took note of that. "And your mother is Barbara Eldon?" She stared at something at the screen, frowning a little.

"Yes. And she is white." He gave the secretary a very pointed look.

She flushed, and began typing again. After a while, she asked, "Are there any extracurricular activities you'd like to join?" She looked at Laura.

The girl grinned eagerly. "Are there any spots open on the football team?"

"You know, I think they accept players each year." She paused, typing for a few seconds. "They have a three-week training camp for the players at a nearby university, and anyone who chooses to stay on after the camp is over, that's good enough, stays on the team for the rest of the season. There's an informational meeting in the gym on Wednesday at 2:30, and then camp starts exactly a week after, on August 1st. " **(2)** Are there any other extracurriculars you'd like to take?"

Laura and her father shared a smile. "Do you have any cooking classes, Mrs. Brooks?" She'd sneaked a look at the plaque on the counter next to the woman.

"Yes, we do, actually." Mrs. Brooks glanced up at the pair in front of her. "Why? Is there any particular reason?"

"It isn't exactly one of my strengths..." Laura began, and her father gave a loud bark of laughter, ignoring her glares..

The secretary smiled. "I see," she finally said. "Well, I'll have you signed up for those as soon as possible." She stood up from her desk and walked around, ending up next to them. "Would you like to take the tour now?"

"Of course," said Chiumbo. With that, they walked out of the main office and turned, going down the hallway.

"I had no idea that the school would be so huge!" Laura said as she and her father strode back to their car, giving one last wave to Mrs. Brooks. They turned around, and her face grew sullen. "But I'm going to be all over the place; all four of my morning classes are _consecutively _on opposite sides of the building, on the third floor **(2)**, and gym's _right _after lunch!" She sighed. "Between that and football—if I even get onto the team, that is—I'll probably have one of the worst classes in the history of this school."

Chiumbo smiled, and patted his daughter on the back. "Laura, this school is only eight years old."

"See? That only emphasizes my point!" They climbed into the van, and drove off into the newly setting sun.

The large, beige moving van blocked the driveway, and Chiumbo was forced to park across the street. As he and his daughter moved into the house, they ducked and dodged the bulky movers, and found Barbara amidst the flurry of furniture.

She kissed her husband on the cheek. "How was the tour?" she asked, ruffling Laura's hair.

The girl shrugged. "It was alright. I mean, I don't exactly have the world's best schedule, but it seems like a nice place. And at least I'll have a secretary to turn to if anything goes wrong."

Barbara smiled. "That's my girl." Then she released Laura's head and stepped away from the other two. "Laura, there are supposed to be people in the kitchen installing the refrigerator. Would you mind checking on them while I see how things in the parlor are? Thank you." Without waiting for an answer, she stalked away, dragging Chiumbo with her.

_Wow; thanks, Mom, _Laura thought as she oversaw the movers fiddling with her family's appliances. The doorbell rang, bringing her out of her stupor. "I'll get it!" she yelled, ready to do anything to get out of her current situation. Weaving her way to the door, she opened it, and almost closed it again. For there, standing right before her (well, one was in a wheelchair), were two boys about her own age, one white, one black, and both completely unfamiliar to her. She stepped a bit further behind the door, ready to slam it at any second. "Who are you? What do you want?"

They both grinned at her. "I'm Gerry Bertier ," the white one in the wheelchair said, "and this is my friend Julius Campbell."

The black boy, Julius, extended a hand to her. "Nice to meetcha." She shook it, and Gerry's, too.

Laura let the door hang open now. "I have to ask, though; how did you know I was moving in here?"

"I saw your family come in earlier this mornin'," Gerry said, "and Julius and I both saw the moving van come in. I'm in your neighborhood, so I thought we should both come in and say hi."

"You two going to T.C. Williams?" She had to stop herself from correcting her grammar slip, thanking the Lord that her parents weren't there. **(3)**

"'Course." This was Julius. "That's the only place where a black boy and a white boy could be friends and expect to live. You goin' to school there?"

As Laura laughed, she couldn't help but notice the one thing Gerry and Julius seemed to have to have in common. "Yeah. Are you both on the football team?" She knew a letterman jacket when she saw one.

"If you lookin' to find a man there, I'm not really sure that's the best way to go."

"No, actually I was wondering if I could join."

That put a stop to the boys' laughter; they stared at her. Gerry began running a hand through his hair. "First black people, and now this." He chuckled as Julius hit him.

**(1): Vans like the one Laura's family has were called commuter vans, because they could hold fifteen or more people. The idea of having such a huge van just appealed to me, and it's really practical for moving, too.**

** (2): Before anyone says anything, I know that camp started on August 15****th**** in the movie. And there wasn't an informational meeting, either, as far as I know.**

** (3): Bad grammar really irritates me, and I've decided that it's going to irritate Laura's parents, too. I might include some 70's lingo that doesn't sound **_**too **_**stupid in the next chapter, but I don't know if that would make it sound fake or not. **

** Well, that's it! This is a rewrite, so I'm really being serious when I ask you all to review and PM and tell me what you think about this chapter. It's going to be a lot more developed than the last story (Those of you who've read it will know what I'm talking about.), and much better. Trust me. **

** -inspiration-arts**


	2. Chapter 2

_So this is it, _Laura thought, suddenly wishing she hadn't told her parents to park the car and let her go in by herself. She checked her watch; three minutes until the meeting was supposed to start. She took several deep breath that didn't help, tried clearing her mind of all thoughts, gave up, and re-checked her watch. Two minutes until the meeting was supposed to start. Well, it wasn't like standing out here was doing her any favors. She pushed open the door to the gym and walked inside, hoping that no one had noticed her entrance.

Of course, everyone turned in their seats to look at her. _They're probably wondering why I'm here without my brother, _she thought, and that almost made her smile. Almost.

Searching desperately for a friendly face, she found two in Gerry and Julius; even though she'd only known them for a few days (barely even half a week, in fact), it was unsurprising that they were sitting together. Luckily, there was an empty seat by Gerry, and she eagerly took the opportunity. "Hi," she whispered to the people—all big, strong-looking boys (men?) that were probably on the team—at her table. They said nothing back, although Julius and Gerry did smile at her.

Just as the silence was becoming extremely awkward, a microphone from somewhere behind her gave feedback, and she turned around, grateful for the diversion. A tall, lean, hard-looking **(1)** black man stood on a raised platform on the far side of the gym, two or three yards away from the wall. "I," he said, "am Coach Boone, your head coach for this season. As most of you know, for the past two years we've held a training camp prior to the beginning of each school year. This year, although the camp is still being held at Gettysburg College, and the students are still my two assistants Coach Yoast and Coach Heines—" he inclined his head to the two men, one black and one white, standing behind him "—and I have decided to extend the camp, and hold it two weeks early, on August first instead of the fifteenth, to ensure that team members have more time to prepare for the upcoming season." An outbreak of mutinous murmurings began, and Coach Boone held up his hand. "Although camp has been extended, members of the team who are unable to come on that particular day will be able to arrive on any day from the first to fifteenth. Coach Yoast's daughter Sheryl will pass around a clipboard and pencil; anyone unable to come on the first should write down their names, their son—or sons'—name, and what day they'll be arriving. We'll resume the meeting in twenty minutes." He turned and stepped over to the other two men, and the boys around her stood up, going over to their parents.

"Hey, honey," Barbara said as Laura sat down at their table, and kissed her daughter's forehead, ignoring the looks she was getting from the other parents and students at their table. "I like this camp idea. We probably have enough time to unpack the rest of our household items, and you can unpack some of your things and take them to the bus." She turned to Chiumbo. "What do you think?"

"I see no reason why this can't work; it's only a week away, and we have a week to prepare." He smiled. "You can go on August first."

"Thank you!" She leaped onto both of them and kissed both their cheeks. "Thank you, thank you, thank you _so _much; you won't regret this!"

**(2) **The bus hit yet another bump, and Laura's head struck the back of its seat. "Damn," she muttered, rubbing her head. She turned to her silent seat mate, hoping to get at least a word out of him. "You're lucky you're so tall; _you _can at least catch before you fall to the floor." He smiled, but said nothing. "So what's your name?"

Both of his hazel eyes looked into hers. "Sam. Sam Kerrigan."

Finally, an answer! "What position are you playing?"

"Either running back or fullback." He shrugged. "Wherever they need me." He leaned back into the chair, more relaxed now. "Why? Are you playing?" His eyes looked her up and down.

"As a matter of fact, I am." She squared her shoulders. "I'm going to be a wide receiver."

His reaction wasn't what she'd been hoping for. "You're going to _play_?"

"Of course I am!" she cried. "What did you think—"

"Sammy boy!" A black boy stuck his head between theirs—effectively ruining their conversation—and put his arms around their shoulders. "I'm disappointed in you. I knew you were a player, but monopolizing the only pretty woman on the bus? Boy, you oughta be ashamed of yourself!"

Turning his head, he grinned at Laura. "Hey, Miss Thing; I'm Petey Jones, star safety. And who might you be?"

Although it wasn't the best come-on in history, it made her smile, and she introduced herself. "I'm Laura Eldon; it's very nice to meet you..."

**(1) I mean "hard" as in "stern, a bit emotionless" I just knew all you hormone-driven teenagers would misinterpret that. **

** (2) I actually tried to write about what happened after the meeting, but it was just so badly and awkwardly written that I just decided to skip the entire thing and just have Laura meet the rest of them at camp. This chapter is extremely short, but trust me; nobody wants to see that.**

** This chapter is a bit more of a filler than anything else, because it felt like the part where they got off the bus would be an add-on. Don't worry; the next chapter—which is already underway—will be much better, and much more worthy of dedicating to my wonderful reviewers and PM-ers! Of course, thanks are rightfully given to all my readers! See you much sooner this time!**

** -inspiration-arts**


	3. Chapter 3

**This was, admittedly, a very long wait. But this chapter is long, and hopefully worth it. This chapter is dedicated to: JanuaryBaby192, albinoblackswan, Alex B. Goode, anexandra, and last but not least, hippielicious. In short: thanks to all my reviewers!**

** Chapter 3: University**

Laura took a right turn, hopefully down the right hallway. No matter how beautiful or enchanting a place was, a building was still a building. "201...," she murmured. "Yes! 203!" She opened it, and there stood Coach Yoast's daughter, her wavy blond hair tied into a frizzy ponytail.

"You must be the new player," she said, with surprising conviction for such a small girl. "I hope you fit in well with the team and have a good time at camp." Turning her back on Laura, she began putting her clothes into her dresser. Not very sure whether she should be offended or relieved, she hauled her suitcase over to the other side of the room and began to do the same.

Slowly she became immersed in her task, and was only aware of her surroundings when her hand scraped the bottom of her suitcase. She checked it: all her dental things, underwear, and toiletries were still in the side pockets and compartments. She smiled; she wasn't _that _far gone yet. Still smiling, she turned around. "Gah!" Sheryl was giving her one of the most intense stares she'd ever seen, and it seared into her bones from all the way across the room. "Miss Yoast," she said hesitantly, "what exactly are you doing...?"

The girl shrugged. "I was just thinkin'. And it's not Miss Yoast," she added as an afterthought. "It's all...old, y'know? Call me Sheryl." Suddenly, inexplicably, her eyes narrowed. "How old do you think I am, anyway?"

Sheryl looked almost furious, so Laura thought she should go at least a bit higher than what she really believed, but under the circumstances, decided to go with the truth. "Nine? Ten?"

She was more than relieved when Sheryl looked mollified. "That's close enough," the blond conceded. "I'm eleven and a half."

Feeling that this consent was enough of a signal to leave for breakfast, Laura stood up and glanced at the clock on the wall. 8:49. "Sheryl," she began, "I—"

"I know, I know," the blond sighed. "I'll be thankful that I look younger than I am when I get older. That's what Mama always says. But Coach Boone thought I was five when I was nine and a half! That's practically a baby!"

Laura had to smile. "I feel your pain, Sheryl, but that's not what I was going to say. Shouldn't we go to breakfast now?"

Sheryl blinked. "Oh." Regaining her composure, she walked out of the room and stopped just outside the threshold. "Are you coming or not?"

The cafeteria was enormous. Seemingly endless numbers of players sat together, several conversations lost amid the din. "Food's over there," Sheryl said beside her, and she looked over to where the younger girl was pointing. At the far end, some players were picking up food from trays on a spare table. "I'll see you!" Sheryl called. Laura spun around; she was already a few feet away, and still walking.

_I guess it's true; everyone _does _leave you at some point."_ Snickering at the joke, she walked over to the table of food, her smile slowly failing as she tried and failed to ignore the looks she received from some of the boys as she walked by.

She picked up a plate at the 'buffet'. "Hey, guys," she said to the players still there. They only stared. Giving them a weak smile, she turned her attention to the food and didn't look up until she'd served herself all the food she thought she could eat in thirty minutes. Walking away from the platters, she stopped and look around. This was the real problem—trying to find a place to sit.

"Laura!" someone called. She looked up towards the sound, and grinned as she saw Gerry and Julius. Pushing the fact that they were sitting with six other people out of her mind, she hurried over. "How's it goin'?" Gerry asked.

She took a deep breath. "Do you guys mind if I sit with you?" She looked at the others, and they looked back.

"What position you goin' to play?" She turned to Julius, the one who'd spoken.

"Receiver. Why?"

"Well, we're a defensive table." He scratched the back of his neck. "I don't wanna be rude or anything like that, but if you eat with us, you won't get to know any of the people you'll be playing with the most, you know what I'm sayin'?"

She sighed. "Yeah. So where's an 'offensive table' I can sit at?"

Julius pointed to a table to their left and down two rows. "Sunshine, Louie and Rev are sittin' there; they're some of the best guys you could meet."

She thanked him and began to migrate once again. At this new table, she didn't hesitate and just sat down. The five people with her looked up. "Julius said I should eat here," she explained, and their heads went back down. Silence reigned, but after a few minutes of forks scraping against plates, one of the players, a big, blonde one, asked her, "So what's your name? Where are you from?"

She looked at him and swallowed. "I'm Laura Eldon, from Mississippi."

He nodded. "Which city?"

"Strawberry." **(1) **

He nodded. "Well, I'm Louie Lastik, offensive lineman, and these two—" he indicated the two boys, one black and one white, "—are David and Tommy, both running backs." They nodded at their plates, still shoveling food into their mouths.

"You two should be ashamed of yourselves," said the black player at the end of the table. "Here we have a new player, a lady no less, and you two are just eating?" He shook his head, and turned to Laura. "I'm Jerry Harris, but you can call me Rev; everyone else does." He reached over and shook her hand, giving the other blond sitting across from her an expectant look.

Taking Rev's cue, she let go of him and turned the last boy there. "And who are you?" she asked.

He gave her a wide, bleach-white smile. "My name's Ronnie Bass. Call me Sunshine." His smile turned wry. "Everybody else does."

_"Oh. My. GOD. Why?" _The team was on its twenty-fifth up-down, with only ten left to go, and she was just about ready to collapse. The whistle blew, and she nearly threw herself onto the ground, the weight of the world on her shoulders as she struggled to get back up. She tried to make it seem like she was jogging in place while lifting her legs as little as possible. What had she done to deserve this? Coach Boone blew the whistle again, and she felt like slapping him across the face. He'd said he was going easy on them because it was their first day! She glared at him as she jogged, glad he was looking at the defense. Another shrill tweet, and she went down and up. Five seconds of jogging, and she did it again. _Just one more time!_ Five seconds passed, and they were still upright. Ten, fifteen..._What is going on? _Her legs felt like burning noodles!

Finally, just as she was getting ready to scream something, the whistle tweeted twice, and she collapsed. "Water break!" she heard Coach Boone yell, and she slowly picked herself up and walked to the table where Sheryl was standing, cooler and cups at the ready. As she drained a cup, the cold of the water rushed to her head, and something in her stomach violently reacted. Dropping to her knees, she put her head into the trash can by the table and promptly began to vomit.

Her stomach churned, and up came the eggs, toast, bacon, fruit, and juice of that morning. After she was finished, the smell and taste of what she'd done surrounded her, and she began to heave, choking and spitting out bile as her stomach tried to remove what wasn't there. Eventually she had the sense to take her head out of the trash can, and sucked in fresh air.

When she could finally focus on something other than her insides, the first thing she noticed was the silence. "Are you okay?" someone asked hesitantly—she recognized Sam, the guy she'd sat next to on the bus.

"No, I'm fine," she said, and stood up shakily. "I just need to sit down for a bit." Arms looped around her waist and shoulders as she began the trek back to where Sheryl was standing. "I told you, I'm fine..."She tried to shake them off, but they steered her to a soft-looking patch of grass near the coolers and lowered her gently onto the ground. "Thanks," she said, suddenly too spent to bother to look up at her two helpers. They jogged off, and twenty minutes later, Laura was back in the game.

**So that was it! It was definitely longer than the last chapter, and hopefully a lot better. So, once again, thanks to all my beautiful readers, and even more to my reviewers and PM-ers! I appreciate you all.**

** —inspiration-arts**


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